


Tough Love

by fortheloveofhawke



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 03:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofhawke/pseuds/fortheloveofhawke
Summary: Varric refuses to let Hawke gloss over her mother's death.





	Tough Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThedosianScholar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThedosianScholar/gifts).



“Take her home,” Aveline had said.

She and Anders stayed behind to take care of the body, which left Varric in a position he’d rather have avoided entirely. But this wasn’t the time to point out that he wasn’t the best at comforting the hurting, even when the person in question was his best friend. All the same, he gently put an arm around Hawke’s waist, turned her away, and led her back to her estate. It was a long walk back to Hightown from the foundry district, but Hawke didn’t say a single word or shed a single tear.

He’d meant to talk to her about her incessant need to help everyone around her. He wanted to tell her that you didn’t give yourself freely to Kirkwall, because Kirkwall only took. It took regardless of what was offered, and just when you thought you had nothing left to give, it found something else—some _one_ else.

She wouldn’t have listened anyway, but he had owed her the warning.

Bodahn waited in the foyer when they arrived, anxiously waiting for the news. Beyond him by the fire stood the others, excluding Aveline, Anders, and Sebastian. They would be arranging the body and services. The rest of them stood as one. Hawke seemed surprised to see them there, but quickly amended her expression, dropping her eyes and shaking her head.

“Oh, messere,” Bodahn whispered. “I can’t believe—I’m so sorry.”

Orana covered her face with her hands and wept silently. The rest spoke gentle condolences, none distinguishable.

Varric put a hand on her back again, which startled her into motion.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Hawke said. “You’ve all been waiting. The house wasn’t prepared for company. Let me tidy up a bit—oh, but it’s late and you probably haven’t eaten. I’ll go make something.”

She hurried about on her way to the kitchen, straightening pillows that were perfectly in order, gathering her assorted potion orders together in one pile, clearing away the items awaiting enchantment. They all watched in something that was part pity, part heartbreak.

As Hawke moved Sandal’s reagents about, her hand brushed the vase of white lilies that still sat beside the enchanting apparatus. She recoiled as if burned and turned abruptly on her heel toward the kitchen.

“I never offered anyone tea! Maker, how rude of—”

“Hawke, that’s not necessary,” Isabela soothed.

“You’re right,” Hawke relented. “It’s too late for tea, isn’t it? Now I’m just keeping you all late. I’m so sorry. I’ll show you out.”

Varric moved with her, parroting her gestures toward the door. The others met his eyes as they left, pleading for someone to do something. Varric reassured wordlessly as best he could. Fenris hung back.

“Varric,” he said, quietly so Hawke wouldn’t hear. “She shouldn’t be alone. I don’t—”

“I’ve got it under control. Unless you’d rather…?”

Fenris balked—as much as he could, which wasn’t very.

“Tell Aveline and Anders. They brought her to the Chantry.”

Fenris gave a curt nod and followed the rest out.

Hawke closed the door and turned. Varric turned with her, but wished he were on the other side of it.

“Bodahn, Orana, please get some rest. It’s been a long day and I’m afraid it’s going to be a busy week. Take tomorrow off and I’ll take care of the house.”

“Messere—” Bodahn began.

“That’s a good idea, Hawke,” Varric said. He waved Bodahn and Orana off reassuringly.

Hawke returned to darting about, never stopping long enough for a moment of idleness. As she headed for the kitchen, Varric gently but firmly wrapped his arm around her waist again and redirected her toward the stairs. He nodded over his shoulder at Bodahn, who hadn’t moved, silently urging the man to go to bed. Hawke came right along, happy to be led for once, and talked in a constant stream about how Varric hadn’t eaten and how he must be so tired.

Varric nodded along with her, led her through her door, and to her bed. He got as far as removing her boot before she took over.

“Varric, I’m not a child,” she said, full of fake humor that soured his stomach.

“Never said you were,” he placated.

Hawke began unbuckling her leathers and he turned away to give her privacy.

“I’m glad Aveline and Anders were there,” she said. “I’m not sure what I would have done.”

Varric was at a loss. He’d never been one to stick around through tragedies. Quick condolences and a week away usually did the trick, ensuring he wouldn’t have to deal with the messy parts. Doing that to Hawke didn’t feel right, though. They were both the last ones left in their families, and she had stuck around for him when they found Bartrand. Still, a voice in the back of his head whispered that Aveline got the easier job.

“I’m decent again,” Hawke said, now wearing a long tunic for bed. “I didn’t realize how tired I was,” she said with an insufferably gentle smile.

“Hawke.”

“Thanks, Varric. I would have cleaned the whole house, I think.”

“Hawke—”

“I don’t want to keep you, though. It _is_ late and you must be exhausted, I know I am. Would you mind terribly if I didn’t show you out? I’m afraid I’m—”

“Evanna,” he bit out. “Stop it.”

Hawke blinked in surprise and paused her fidgeting. Had he ever used her given name before?

Varric didn’t want to be angry at her, but it grated his nerves that, even after the tragedy she’d faced just hours ago, Hawke was still more concerned with everyone else. Always everyone but herself. She’d busy herself helping every single person in Kirkwall if it meant she wouldn’t have to think about her own problems. The others would probably have let her, too, which made his stomach churn with anger, but not as much as the knowledge that _he_ would have let her, too, if not for that damned gentle smile of hers.

Hawke the helper. Hawke the refugee, who had fled her burning home and her brother’s corpse, then immediately set to work trying to make Kirkwall a better place. Hawke, who had probably never taken care of herself because someone else always needed help.

“Varric, what’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath, willing his irritation away, but she continued.

“Did you forget where the front door is?” she asked with a chuckle. “I won’t take offense, promise.”

That did it. That poor attempt at a joke for his benefit did it.

“Didn’t you ever learn how to grieve?” he asked lightly.

Hawke froze, eyes wide.

“I didn’t think so.”

Varric sat next to her and took her hand. She glanced down at it and back as he continued.

“It’s a process. Not a fun one, but good luck trying to avoid it. You see, denial comes first. Though, since it’s you, it’s closer to deflection. All that cleaning you tried to do? Yeah. You’re right on track, don’t worry.”

Hawke opened her mouth to interrupt, but Varric wouldn’t pause to give her the opportunity.

“Anger’s next. You can deny _that_ all you want, but I didn’t make the rules. Anger at the loss—at the unfairness of the world, which you’re more than familiar with. Then bargaining. Some rediscover their faith in the Maker, only to lose it again once they realize He’s not listening.”

He watched anger flash through her eyes—at him. He could take it. He’d expected it after entering this diatribe, and she needed it. She needed to be angry at every horrible part of her life that had dragged her here.

“Acceptance is the hard part, Hawke,” he finally said, once he was sure she was listening again.

Something had opened the dam and suddenly Varric couldn’t take the protective jokes anymore. They churned his stomach, especially since he’d been the one to set this precedent. _He’d_ refused honesty over and over with her until their every conversation was a joke. He’d helped Hawke build a wall to hide behind while she ran around the city ignoring her own problems in favor of everyone else’s. He was just another person glossing over her problems for his own comfort.

“It’s the hardest part,” he said, holding her gaze with his own. His voice had grown rough and low, somewhere near the threshold of breaking. “And I can’t lie and tell you for sure that it’ll come.”

She breathed in and held it long enough that he felt concerned, then let it out in a shudder. Varric grabbed her other hand and squeezed. She clung back with a crushing grip.

“I didn’t know you could be so serious,” she said with a shuddery, shaky laugh.

“I save it for special occasions,” he remarked. “Like stubborn friends who refuse to take care of themselves.”

She ducked her head—

“Evanna.”

—and lifted it with a jerk.

“Stop worrying about me. I’m still here. I’m not leaving. Unless you insist, of course. I’m not one to overstay my welcome—”

He trailed off as Hawke slowly leaned forward, still giving him time to escape, until her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. Varric saw her face crumple just before it ducked out of view. Something that felt a little like regret, but more like searing empathy squeezed his heart. Watching Hawke go through the loss of the final member of her family was awful enough; knowing exactly how it felt was nearly unbearable. And because Varric knew what she was going through, he knew that no words could possibly help. He’d have talked until his throat bled if it would have helped her.

Hawke curled into him gradually, as if she were giving him every possible opportunity to leave. He held her tighter instead, partially to ensure he _wouldn’t_ give in to the temptation to hightail it out the door to drink himself to sleep. He couldn’t do that to Hawke. He wouldn’t.

She sobbed into his shoulder, grieving both her mother and the last of her remaining family. It didn’t last long. One could only cry so much before full exhaustion. They sat there on the edge of her bed, holding each other in silence. Hawke inhaled a shuddery breath, the last sign of tears for the time being, and let it out.

“Sorry you didn’t leave when you had the chance?” She let out a little laugh that was rather devoid of humor.

“Never,” he said firmly.

He felt Hawke hold her breath and let it out in another shudder.

“I’m not sure I believe that entirely.” It was meant to sound humorous, but it would be a while before she was capable of that again.

“That’s fair.”

“But thanks, Varric,” she whispered, gripping him tighter.

“Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd and greatly helped by my irl friend.


End file.
